Hurt
by Apple Senorita
Summary: Dean's slowly leaving Sam. Sam's loosing his own grip on life and all he can do is hurt...


My head hurts like a jackhammer has hit it. My right leg feels strange, like it's just about to fall asleep but it's struggling to get there. I wrap my hands tighter around the mug that's been handed to me. Another hot chocolate. I'm so fucking sick of hot chocolate. As if handing me one hot chocolate after another is going to make me feel any better. They said warm drinks are comforting and chocolate can help prevent shock. I can't even be bothered to pretend to drink this one. I suspect by now it's gone cold.

A pain lights up in my forehead like someone's stuck a lit match under my eyelid. It hurts, a nasty white pain and my hand unintentionally shoots to my head to touch it. It's a jerky, quick reaction and I can't hide it. Officer Collins, family liaison officer, comes rushing over, her hair a little wiry and her face a little pale. Stress, probably. Well I sure wouldn't like her job.

"Are you Ok?"

How many times have I been asked that today? Do people think repeating some asinine question in an attempt to gage your feelings somehow makes you feel…whatever it is they want you to feel? Because I don't feel anything when she frowns all concerned at me, her hand going towards my head. I still feel numb. I don't bat her hand away, I'm frightened to touch anything that isn't the mug my hands are already on. But I move an inch to the left and her hand pauses where it hasn't reached me. She doesn't push for the contact but I can see she wants to, wants to see how I will respond to it.

I don't share her smile. Because right now my world doesn't exist beyond the space around his table, most certainly not beyond that door. My world isn't big enough to take in her colleagues and their shining eyes…all their questions. There's a stinging pain somewhere in my head but I can't place it anywhere specifically. I just know that if it I was on my own I'd probably bang my head against the table until it went away.

"It's Ok, the doctor should be here in half an hour. They'll know by then. Not long,"  
I could tell she wanted to rub my shoulder when she said that, but she could tell I was not going to let her.

After fifteen minutes they switched my hot chocolate cup in my front of me. Another fifteen minutes along the line and I don't let go of the grip on the mug as they tell me what's happened. How he's going to be Ok for now, but he probably won't wake up. That when he goes, he'll go peacefully, they'll make sure of that. They sound sorry, but what the fuck do I know. I was only half listening. I was only half there.

"I'm so sorry, Sam,"  
I look up over the sandwich I'm making. Yeah I'm making myself a sandwich. I thought Bobby was going to get on his knees and start singing hallelujah when he walked in on me making myself a sandwich at the kitchen table. I guess I haven't eaten in a while. I don't know what I'm going to put in it, because I feel like meat – like a burger maybe, something hot and chewy that gets my jaw working - but there isn't any in the house. I don't answer Bobby and just pick up the other piece of bread.

"They'll do all they can, you know. Sam? Sam are you listening?"

"No,"

I don't think anyone's answered that question negatively to him before. He faults for a bit before saying, "I know how hard this must be for you Sam but you have to start thinking properly. Your head's not fixed on straight, you're not yourself. And if you're not yourself then you can't start to think about this,"

"What's there to think about?" my voice went from total indifference to a piercing question.

"Well…what might happen. He might not wake up. Like the doctor said, he might just…go in his sleep. You need to consider that. Need to think about what you're going to do after that. You are the only person Dean's got left, Sam,"  
So, what, they want me to make his funeral arrangements in-keeping with Dean's personality or something? I'm going to have to _burn his body_, just like we had to burn our Dad's not so long ago. There's no thought behind that, no planning. Just a body and a pyre.

And it's not just that I'm all that Dean's got left…Dean's all _I've_ got left.

Bobby watches me as I make my sandwich. He screws up his mouth a little and sighs, "I'm going to make you a proper meal tonight, Sam. Get you to eat something that will actually fill you up,"  
"I'm going to the hospital tonight," I say, finding a plate.

"Sam…you spent all last night at the hospital too, and all this morning-"  
"And?"  
"And…and you've go to change the times you see him or you'll never sleep. How can you sleep in that hospital-?"  
"I don't,"

I pile my sandwich on my plate and take it outside. I sit on the back of the van next to Rumsfeld who's sleeping soundly. I fall into a long stretch of thought, and by the time I come out of it Rumsfeld's eaten all of my sandwich. I have to be honest; I'm not that bothered.

I'm spitting blood out into the sink. I can't remember if I threw it up or coughed it up. Rumsfeld's barking at something in the yard; Bobby told me he's got someone coming over. An old friend. That was all he told me; I don't know if I'm expected to do anything when they come.

I've spent the afternoon outside, lying in the back of Bobby's truck with Rumsfeld. Being lazy. Being as un-proactive as possible. I'm hoping to achieve some sort of state of nothingness where I just blend into the things around me and cease to exist. Then someone else can have this fucking headache rampaging around my head.

It didn't work though, and soon I realised I was being scorched by the sun. I've got two streaks of sunburn under my eyes now, red and sore. I keep cold water on my face and eventually the pain eases off. After ten minutes I realise I miss it.

"Sam?!"

Bobby shunts open the bathroom door. He gives me the once over before saying briskly, "Come on. Come and say hey,"

I drop the flannel into the sink where it hits the speckles of red I forgot to wash away, and follow Bobby out into the hallway. It smells of fresh air and dog out here, the plaster peeling off the walls and the grime on the side of the stairs punctuated only by various pictures and symbols. The living room's awash with hazy evening light. I gage it as being about seven; I'd better get to the hospital soon. I ignored the visiting hours as much as possible; I could think of nothing more depressing than abiding by the rules of that anaesthetic, death-stinking place.

Crap.

I know Bobby's visitor. They open their mouth a little at the sight of me, like they want to say something. Their hands slide from the back pocket of their jeans and cover their mouth.

"Oh Sam," they say, eventually.

"Hey Ellen," I say with a nod. My voice doesn't sound like mine anymore. She shakes her little, coughs and puts her hands back in her pockets, "Uh…it's good to see ya. Bobby called…he told me what happened. Sam I'm…I'm so sorry. I can't imagine how difficult this is for you,"

"Where's Joe?" Bobby asks into the following silence.

"I got a postcard the other day. She's in New York. She's doing fine,"  
"Good,"

My gaze has drifted out to the yard. The Chevy's parked out in the sun, steaming silently. Glistening, tidy. Empty.

"Want a drink Ellen?"  
"Oh, yeah, I'll have a beer, thanks Bobby,"  
"You want one Sam?"  
I shake my head. I can still taste blood in my mouth. A moment later Ellen's directly in front of me. Her hands come out and hold my arms in a warm grip.

"Sam, this must be so hard for you. What…what are you going to do, sweetie?"  
"What do you mean?"  
"I mean if…if something were to happen to Dean, what are you going to do?"  
I pause for a moment as my mind trips over itself then throw her arms off, "Why do people keep asking me that?! Isn't it obvious?! I'm going to have to _burn his body_, that's it! There's nothing else I _can_ do, _why_ do people keep asking me that?!"

"That's fine Sam," she says, patiently, "I mean after that. After…if that happens, if Dean goes, then what are you going to do,"  
I can't think. My head hurts too much, I can't think, stop asking me questions…

"I don't…I mean, I'll…it doesn't matter, Dean's going to be fine,"  
"Honey-"  
"Look I've got to go, I've got to get to the hospital,"  
I can't function properly enough to grab anything before I go; I just leave out the front door in a run and set Rumsfeld off. I can hear him barking even when I'm halfway down the street.

I can still hear him barking in my head when I take the elevator at the general hospital up to Dean's floor, when I push open the door, when I take my seat next to the prone Dean.

Who everybody keeps telling me probably won't wake up.

But he's got to.

What am I meant to do without my brother?


End file.
